Mashed Tomato
by survivor10
Summary: No greater love ...


**Mashed Tomato**

survivor10

 ** _Summary:_**

No greater love …

 ** _Notes:_**

 _I wrote this story in response to a writing prompt that Paula UK & sandybeliever put on our FB wall – thanks, ladies, for getting the juices pumping!_

 _I acknowledge William Blinn as the original creator of "Starsky & Hutch", along with Aaron Spelling, William Goldberg, Joseph Naar, David Soul, Paul Michael Glaser, Bernie Hamilton, Antonio Fargas and Company. _

_My thanks as always to John, the love of my life and my partner-in-crime._

-0-

 **PROLOG**

"Hey, gimme that back!" I scream from somewhere inside me. "That's my identity! You can't take that away from me!"

No-one can hear me. I slump, abandoned and tired of being poked and prodded this way and that. It hurts, oh God, it hurts. How about someone throwin' a little of that hurt/comfort thing my way? I have feelin's, too, y'know!

You fans out there, you're all the same. You think the "Starsky & Hutch" show is just about two guys – Mr. America and Mr. Popularity. Well, I'm here to tell ya different. There's another body who's just as important, and that's _me_!

I s'pose you're wonderin' who I am and what I'm doin' here, sittin' on my Pat Malone and all bent outta shape. Well, I'll tell ya. I'm Mr. Gran Ford Torino, 1976, California license plate 537 ONN, candy apple red and proud of it! Call me the fifth wheel, call me the striped tomato (you better not!), call me what you will – ain't _nothin'_ gonna change how important _I_ am to this outfit!

Right now, though, I'm mashed tomato, and this is my story.

-0-

 **CHAPTER 1 – Gone are the Days  
**

Gone are the days. There was a time I cruised these Bay City streets, as smooth as fresh oil lubricatin' my engine on a hot summer day. Tuned suspension and four fives in the rear end. Proud for all to see with those rear-end shocks settin' me up on my nose above the rest.

My white vector stripe said it all. Pure class and elegance. Not like those cars tarted up with their cheap flame jobs, hollerin' out, "Look at me!" like some Mardi Gras parade float. Me, I have a more understated look that makes its statement _plent_ y _!_

I'm one quick car. _Quick_ , not fast - there's a difference, as my Curly Top owner pointed out to his pal Blondie. Curly has a good way of handlin' me with his fingers. He tried to teach his ways to his partner who drives with a lead foot.

My action is all down to my blueprinted, supercharged, stroked V8 engine with double overhead cam and chrome air cleaners and rocker cover. Boy, did it rip my guts out the day my engine was stolen! Never mind ol' Buckaroo losin' a great big chunk of _his_ will to live – _I_ lost my mojo, my lifeline, altogether!

Now speakin' of the Blond Blintz just before, he's a strange one. One minute he hates me, calls me a _striped tomato._ Don't get me started on what I think of _his_ lousy bit of garbage! If I'm a striped tomato, what does that make his car – a pile of refried beans rottin' in the sun and stinkin' to high heaven?!

But then Blondie lovin'ly strokes my rear end when Curly Top goes missin'. Between you, me and the gas pump, they both have a propensity to do that – go missin', that is.

I don't let just anyone pat my rear end, ya know. But I figure Blondie is Busta Brown's best buddy, and that makes him OK by me. I've even let him take me for a spin a few times – mostly when Curly Top hasn't been 'round, and sometimes when Mr. Rev Head's been too sick or upset to drive.

Phew, did my wheels spin when that blond Grand Prix wannabe donutted me round and round at Pinyon Pine Ranch! I'm tellin' ya, it took a good few heavy-duty washes to get the dust and debris out of my grille and mudguards after that little joy ride! Blondie slaved over the scrub 'n' rinse before we picked his pal up from hospital. We kinda bonded a bit during that time.

But I sure as hell don't feel any closeness to Mr. Indianapolis now!

-0-

 **CHAPTER 2 – The Crash  
**

This sorry mess all started this mornin'. It was our day off. Blondie was at home with his health shakes and hair shirt, Curly was sleepin' in, and me, I was restin' on the shady driveway. It was pure serenity until a phone call disturbed our peace. The two centurions were called to an armed robbery. So we leapt into action, plannin' to meet up at the scene of the crime.

Curly and me got there first. Well, what did ya expect? That piece of junk Blondie drives sure wasn't gonna get there any sooner than me and Dick Tracy! As Blondie was approachin' the scene, he saw the two perps race outta the buildin' and take off with me. Kidnapped!

Blondie took off after us, siren blarin', concerned about those dangerous felons gettin' away, and sick that his pal might be captive in the back. I like to think Blondie cared about me, too, just a bit. He tried raisin' Curly on the police radio, but that didn't work 'cause the perps yanked my radio out. Ouch, that hurt!

Curly wasn't with me. He'd been runnin' outta the buildin' just as we were all screechin' off. He leapt into action, takin' off after us all in the perps' car. He was thinkin' he was backin' Blondie up chasin' the crooks. Of course, he wanted his pride 'n' joy back, too!

Now here's the twist. Ya see, the perps' car looked exactly like _me!_ Except it wasn't me – it was some cheap imitation! I guess I should be flattered, but nothin' can hold a light to my grace and style. The perps' idea was that, with Curly Top's car bein' so one-of-a-kind, no-one would suspect the doppelgänger car of bein' a crook's car. They'd all think it was Mr. Policeman's car instead! If I wasn't so bashed and bruised by what happened, I'd have to doff my bonnet to them. That's some clever camouflage to be usin' the bleedin' obvious!

So there we all were – me, abducted by the armed robbers and hurtlin' through space like there was no tomorrow, Blondie hot on my tail, and Curly Top in even hotter pursuit behind us all. Lights were flashin' and siren blarin' – it would've been real excitin' if I wasn't so worried about where we'd end up!

I was right to be worried. Blondie was drivin' like a loon after us. He was lurchin' and skiddin' in and out of traffic, leavin' clouds of heavy smoke in his wake that were obscurin' his rear vision. This was a national emergency and here he was drivin' a bucket of bolts like that!

Curly Top was comin' up the rear in Blondie's smoky trail. Approachin' the crossroads on 22nd and Market, Mr. Armed Robber ran the red light, lookin' over his shoulder and not seein' the truck comin' through on the green and headin' right for us. The clunker, right behind, suddenly started coughin' and sputterin' – and then it stalled, right in the middle of the intersection! The truck kept comin' at us and we swerved, spinnin' out in a 180 degree turn. The truck veered to miss the clunker, puttin' the truck back in our path as I was skiddin' outta control. I collected the truck and just like that, it was all over.

Curly hit the brakes and sprang into action before comin' to a screechin' standstill, turnin' his ankle and riskin' life 'n' limb to save me. Blondie also came leapin' outta his car. The robbers left me for dead, jumpin' out to make good their getaway. They didn't stand a chance! Those two grab-'n'-nab 'em champs were on to the crooks in a flash. Busted!

Perps cuffed and taken off in a black-and-white, Curly Top gave me a tender lovin' look-over. He was mortified. I gave a little grunt here, a whimper there, but it was all I could do to keep a stiff upper fender.

My bonnet was askew, my front fender bent, my headlight smashed, my driver's side and front crumpled, and my grille caved in on itself. My tires had blown and my wheels were down to their bare steel rims - my beautiful five-slot mags ruined from scrapin' on the ground! My chassis was a wreck, my wheels were out of alignment, and I didn't even wanna think about the damage to my engine.

Someone shoot me – I was a mess!

Addin' insult to injury, there on the other side of the road sat Mr. Copy Cat, all in one piece. How could anyone mistake that hot rod wannabe for me? I'm much better lookin'! No body could come close to my customized, optimized **,** very special self.

Blondie hobbled over, a little the worse for wear, and commiserated with his partner, mumblin', "Sorry, Starsk." He knew not to say too much – a man has to be allowed to do his own grievin'. Besides, what part he had to play in this whole shambles remained to be seen.

Tryin' to make light in a ham-fisted kinda way, Blondie touched the gun in his holster under his jacket and asked his pal if he should put me out of my misery. Some joke comin' from him, even if he had read my mind! I _ain't_ laughin'!

Curly Top wasn't either as he woefully surveyed the damage and pulled the key ever so gently outta my ignition.

-0-

 **CHAPTER 3 – Crash 'n' Cash Investigations  
**

The tow truck bolted outta the clear blue sky, a vulture pouncin' on its prey. My license plate was lyin' on the ground where some dude picked it up. "Hey, gimme that back!" I hollered inside. Curly reclaimed the plate – my identity!

The tow truck driver hooked me up and hauled me off to Merle the Earl's Custom Car Cult and Body Shop on East Marshal. There, my old buddy met me. Was that Customizin' Pearl a sight for sore headlights!

The next day, a baldin', uptight lookin' man wearin' a suit and tie and carryin' a brief case came walkin' into the Shop.

"Excuse me," he said as he approached Merle and me. "I'm looking for, uh, the Prince, uh, Merlin—"

"I'm not a Prince, although you could say I'm a wizard," replied Merle. "I'm _Merle_ the _Earl."_

"How do you do, Mr. Earl. I'm Harvey Littlemore of Crash 'n' Cash Insurance Company. I'm hear to review the damages to Mr. David Starsky's car. A Gran Ford Torino, 1976?"

"You've come to the right place,' Merle replied in a lofty tone. "And here's the aggrieved party in question now."

Curly and his blond buddy arrived on the scene, lookin' flustered. As if my state of affairs wasn't bad enough, the dynamic duo had to get here on shank's pony and a bus, seein' as how both their cars were out of action. Make that another diary entry for Curly Top about his latest bus excursion!

"How do you do, Mr. Starsky," Littlemore said as he reached out to shake Blondie's hand.

"No, no. _That's_ Mr. Starsky."

"Oh, Mr. Starsky."

"Mr. Littlemore. This is my partner, Ken Hutchinson."

More pleasantries were exchanged and then Littlemore got down to business.

"Mr. Earl, I understand you've been servicing Mr. Starsky's car for some time now."

"That's right," Merle confirmed with pride, then gave a sideways nod to Blondie. " _His_ too, but don't blame _me_ for _that!"_

"I've read the police report," Littlemore went on. "It certainly makes for interesting reading. There's a few twists and turns I need to straighten out with you, Mr. Starsky. First up, the damaged car in question is _your_ car?"

"That's correct."

Darn straight!

"But you _weren't_ the one driving it when the accident happened?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"A couple of armed robbers were drivin' it instead."

"How's that?"

"They mistook it for their getaway car."

"You mean _this_ car here was mistaken for _theirs?"_

"That's right."

"How could that be? I mean, your car is, shall we say, _distinctive."_

I began warmin' up to this dude.

"Well, you see, their getaway car was a copy of mine."

"A copy? You mean, there are _two_ of these ketchupped-up hot dogs?"

Watch it, fella!

"Hot dog _bulldog!"_ objected Merle, as he then bemoaned my fate. "More like _tomato salsa_ now."

"Evidently," Starsky replied to Littlemore's question, doin' his best to ignore his sllght against Yours Truly.

"Why don't you take it from the top and tell me what happened."

"Me and Hutch, my partner here, were called out to an armed robbery. It was our mornin' off and we'd been called in from home. I got to the scene first. I was casin' the joint when my partner arrived. As he pulled up, he saw the two robbers jump in my car and take off. He took off after them."

"You see, Mr. Littlemore," Blondie interjected. "I thought my partner was _inside the car._ The felons were considered to be armed and dangerous. We'd agreed we'd wait for each other before going in."

"Yeah, but I heard a disturbance before my partner got there, so I went inside to case the joint out," Curly explained.

"A little foolish, if you ask me," Blondie quietly chided his partner.

Here we go.

"Well, no one's askin'," Starsky softly retorted. "Hey, admit it, ya'd have done the same thing."

Blondie smiled a bit and moved his head and hand in that way he's got when he's concedin' a point. Littlemore brought them back on track.

"Did the robbers break into your car, Mr. Starsky?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"The car wasn't locked," Curly reluctantly admitted.

Now that's a bone I've got to pick with Mr. Security here. I can't count the times he's left me vulnerable like that on the street. Him bein' a cop and all, ya think he'd know better!

"So they helped themselves and hot-wired the car?"

Curly was really squirmin' now. "No," he mumbled.

"How did they start the car then?"

You don't wanna know, Mr. Pay-A-Lot Insurance Man.

"Well, uh, the key was in the ignition."

"I see." Littlemore seemed pretty appalled – join the club! "What happened next?"

"Well, I was in pursuit of the two robbers," Blondie explained.

"And I went in pursuit of this guy," Curly added, "In the robbers' car."

"Which is exactly like his," Blondie added rather unnecessarily. That heap is _nothin'_ like me!

"And I called it in," Blondie continued.

"'Called it in'?" Littlemore looked puzzled.

"Yeah, back to base, reporting the incident and requesting back-up," Blondie clarified.

"I see. Explain what happened next."

"Well, I was gaining on the robbers," Blondie started.

"And I was gainin' on Hutch," Curly picked up.

"The robbers revved it up as they approached the intersection at 22nd and Market," Blondie went on.

"They were some keen drivers," Curly acknowledged.

Well, that's because they were drivin' _me!_ I'd make anyone look good! Well _almost_ anyone, except maybe Blondie over here.

"The light was red," Blondie continued.

"And they—," Curly went on

"The _robbers_ —," Blondie clarified

"—were goin' through the red light," Curly kept goin'.

"I know, I saw, I'm telling it." Blondie was gettin' snitty.

"I know you saw, but it's _my_ car and I wanna explain."

"But I was the one right behind it, so let me finish, will you?"

Hey, remember me, fellas? I can tell you _exactly_ what happened next – Mr. Indianapolis here stalled and we all went crashin' into infinity!

"Will _someone_ tell me please?" Littlemore broke in. I could see he was gettin' impatient. Who could blame him? When those two get started, there's no tellin' where or when it's gonna end!

"OK, OK," Blondie pulled back. "Sorry, Starsk."

"Me too. I'm a bit worked up."

 _He's_ worked up! _He_ ain't the one lyin' in pieces on the ground!

"A truck was comin' through the green light, the robbers were drivin' against the red. Hutch's car stalled in the middle of the intersection just as the robbers were goin' into a spin tryin' to miss the truck."

"That clunker! That piece of _garbage!"_ Merle scorned.

"I told you to get the bugs out, Merle!" Blondie retaliated.

 _"Bugs out!_ All the bug exterminators in America couldn't get out what's ailing your car!"

Littlemore cut in. "The _accident_ , gentlemen. _Please_ , could you continue?"

Curly picked it up. "Well, the truck swerved to miss Hutch and ran into my car which was skiddin' out of control. It's all there in the report."

"Did you have the siren on, Detective Hutchinson?"

 _"Of course I had the siren on!"_ Blondie snapped. His dander was really up now – no-one insults _his_ intelligence and gets away with it.

"But _you_ _didn't,_ Detective Starsky?"

"No."

"But you still went in pursuit?"

"Yes."

"Aren't police officers expected to obey traffic rules, and if they speed under specific conditions, they need to have their lights and sirens on?"

"I wasn't in a police vehicle and I needed to back up my partner. He was chasin' two armed and dangerous felons. Anything could've happened to him."

Blue eyes spoke to blue eyes in that wordless way the pair have. Quick, someone get me the bucket!

"Thanks partner," Blondie finally said.

"'s OK. Thanks for goin' after my car. How's ya back?" Florence Nightingale began fussin' over his pal. "It took a bit of a jolt yesterday."

"It's fine."

"Sure?"

"Sure. How about your sprained ankle?"

"I'll live. Thanks for askin'."

Oh, puh-leeese! We're not here to catalogue _your_ injuries! Anyone care about _me?_ I'm worse off than any of ya!

Mr. Insurance Man saved the day. "OK. Well, that all squares with the details I have in this report here. Unusual circumstances, I must say. Now let's look at the damages."

Curly re-focused on the main game as they all gathered around me. Littlemore scrutinized every bump, dint, scratch and scrape – there wasn't a place he didn't jab and tab. Oh, the indignity!

"Oh, that's a shame. Nice mags. At least, they _were,"_ Littlemore noted.

"Five slots, custom-fitted. Did the job myself" Merle boasted, puffin' himself out with vain 'n' glory. He sure wasn't wastin' any time drawin' attention to his talents.

"Brand new," Curly moaned,

"Nothing but the best!" Merle spruiked, and went on, seein' Littlemore examinin' my tires next. "Nylon lined, steel-belted, double-layered."

"Cost sixty dollars each," Curly lamented.

Mr. Sensitivity just grunted and scribbled more notes, while Blondie laid a comfortin' hand on his buddy's shoulder.

"Now this white vector – a custom job, is it?" Littlemore asked.

 _"I'm_ not responsible for _that_ jive white stripe!" Merle grunted with disdain. "But I can replicate and renovate the whole job with a touch of metallic magenta—"

Blondie scoffed. "Oh great, turn the tomato into _cherry pie_."

"—and _transform_ that stripe into a flame with glitter," Merle finished, ignorin' Blondie's smirks.

"Mr. Earl, _you_ know as well as _I_ that we need to stay within the remit of the car's condition immediately prior to the accident.'

Ignorin' Merles' contemptuous snort, Littlemore went on, Merle's list and estimates of repairs still in hand. "What about the engine?"

Merle recovered himself. "That's one tough baby. Super-fine, re-defined, so clean it shines! Why, you can wine and dine on that piece of turbine!"

"Yes, but does it need any repairs from the accident?"

"No. And you have _me_ to thank for that. Work like _mine_ helps _your_ bottom line."

Disregardin' Merle's grand-standin', Littlemore moved on. "The rear of the car appears unscathed."

"I fitted that rear axle gearing with higher ratio gears for more snap from zero to sixty in split-second timing."

Littlemore turned to Curly. "That's how you get your thrills?" he asked. Maybe he was tryin' to be funny, but Curly Top was in no laughin' mood.

"Hey, I'm a cop!" he flared. "I have to be able to accelerate at a moment's notice when the situation calls for it."

That put Mr. Diddly-Squat back in his place. For now. "OK. Now, is there somewhere we can sit? There's something else I need to talk about with you." He sounded ominous as Blondie and Curly exchanged looks.

"Step into my office," Merle answered with a flourish, showin' 'em to a nearby bench where they sat down and I remained in ear shot.

-0-

 **CHAPTER 4 – Bad Risk  
**

"Mr. Earl, do you think you can fix this thing?"

"Fix it? Didn't you read that sign? I'm Merle the Earl, the Customizing Pearl. Hey baby, I can fix anything, even _his_ garbage over there."

Blondie's car was in the yard, repaired and ready to go as it ever might be, thanks to my main man Merle.

"I've looked at your cost estimates, Mr. Earl. I must say, they seem a bit inflated."

"Inflated? Who you calling _inflated?_ We do things one way here. The _best!_ And the best is what helps keep _your_ premiums down. This wreck would have been a heck lot worse if it wasn't for the car being so well fitted out and maintained!"

"Well, then, it seems we have four ways we can salvage this thing."

I didn't like the sound of that word, "salvage."

Littlemore heartlessly continued. "One way is to scrap the vehicle."

 _WHAT?_ I ain't ready for the scrap heap! Strangulated noises of exasperation began emanatin' from Merle, while Curly just plumb exploded.

"Wait a minute!" Curly yelled. "There's plenty that can be fixed here. Ya heard the man!"

"I heard plenty," Littlemore answered, gazin' meaningfully in Merle's direction. "Now let's all settle down. Another option is dismantling the vehicle and selling off the parts."

Quick, someone hand me the smellin' salts!

"Sellin' off the parts?" Curly gasped in shock. "Whaddya sayin', that my car _can't_ be repaired?"

Now that's not anything Curly Top or Yours Truly or Merle our Wizard here wanna hear.

"No, I'm not saying that," Littlemore reassured us. "I'm explaining the insurance options we have at our disposal. Now, you haven't had the car insured for replacement at a guaranteed value, which would have been prudent given the modifications your car has had done.

"Yeah, but have ya seen the premiums for that kind of insurance?" Curly protested

"You get what you pay for, blood," Merle rejoined.

Littlemore was undeterred. "So yes, your car _could_ be safely repaired …"

"'Could be'", Curly repeated. "But you ain't sayin' 'will be'?"

"Let me finish. If the repair costs exceed the pre-accident value of the car, we write the car off."

Dear God, no!

"But you could repair it if the costs are less?"

"That's right. But if costs are more than around 50% of current market value, then again we're likely to write it off."

"I can't believe it!"

 _He_ can't believe it!

"Now hang on a minute," Starsky struggled. "This car's very important to me, I mean, we've been together a very long time."

Blondie put his arm around Curly and calmly spoke to Littlemore. "As I understand it, Mr. Littlemore, we need to determine the value of the car before deciding if repair costs exceed 50% or not."

Good point, Blondie! He always did have a head for figures, even if he knows diddly-squat about cars.

"That's right!" Curly chimed in as he began rummagin' through the papers he'd brought with him. "Look here. Here's NADA's car valuation guide, and I've got this month's adverts for my car's make and model. This is my car's service history, includin' new parts and tires, and enhancements to the engine. Merle here has it all on record, too."

"That's right," Merle chipped in.

"Now, I think all this conclusively shows the added value of my car—" Curly continued.

"There are other considerations we have to make here."

" _'Other considerations?'_ " Curly jumped. "What are they?"

"I've been reviewing your insurance file, Mr. Starsky. It makes for interesting reading."

Curly craned his neck as Littlemore pulled out the file from his case.

"As you know, we have to make adjustments for mileage and vehicle condition – and that's what brings me to this file. It shows your pattern of claims. They range from the relatively trivial to the downright serious. All up, your car seems to have suffered more than the usual wear-and-tear you'd expect of a car of this age and mileage."

Curly looked desperately at Blondie, who uselessly shook his head, while I just slumped into a funk, feelin' sorrier and sorrier for myself.

Littlemore droned on. "Let's start with the minor incidents. Replacing doors that don't close. Repairing dints and scrapes on the roof and bonnet of the the car. There appears to have been _footprints_ on the bonnet!"

"Well sometimes it's quicker to take a short-cut over rather than, ya know, around the car," Curly tried to explain. "I tried to tell my partner not to walk on my bonnet or jump through the window—"

 _"_ _Jump through the window?"_ Littlemore queried.

"When we have to make tracks fast. No harm done, um, to the car I mean," Curly replied.

Easy for him to say! There's been plenty of harm done to my bodywork from Blondie's poncy, clunky boots. At least when Curly Top climbs over me, he's wearin' his soft Adidas – and _he_ never once tried to leap through my windows!

Littlemore had more to say. "I also noticed that your car doesn't appear to have a rear-view mirror, and the seat belts have fallen into disrepair, even though they hardly seem to have been used. They seem to have _petrified!_ I've also learned you've amassed quite a bundle of parking fines. I mean, for an officer of the law, you seem awfully bent on flaunting the law when it comes to your car!"

"Now just hang on, Mr. Littlemore," Blondie stepped in. "There's something you need to understand here. We use our own cars in the course of our duty as police officers. The department doesn't provide the cars. _We do._ We have to be able to get in and out of the car at a second's notice – seat belts get in the way, we don't always have the time to lock up, and parking signs don't dictate when and where we can stop to save a life or stop a crime going down. We get paid a _pittance_ for the use of our own cars and our insurance premiums keep going _through the roof!_ Your company knew and understood this situation when they signed up my friend here. So now the only real question here is, what are we going to do about Detective Starsky's car in view of this accident?"

Way to go, Blondie!

" _Accident?"_ Littlemore rejoined in a tone that said he was unmoved by Blondie's little protest speech. "That brings me to an accident you had last year, Mr. Starsky. You were in pursuit of two felons, going at a dangerously high speed. You swerved to miss a truck, hurtled across the freeway, and crashed into a small building. You both landed in hospital."

"I remember the incident. So does my buddy here."

"There's also been claims made against vandalism. Cut brake lines, slashed tires, even a _stolen engine_."

"All in the line of duty," Curly asserted.

"There's also been acts of _violence_ visited upon the car. Your windscreen and side windows have been shot and shattered on numerous occasions, and a bomb was planted in your car when you left it unattended, blowing it _sky high!_ Mr Earl, you've been kept very busy. You could retire early on the work you've had to do on this car!"

Merle raised his chin at Mr. Killjoy, half in contempt, half in pride.

The grinch went on. "Also, Mr. Starsky, you've had breakdowns and break-ins, including _stowaways_!"

"Hey, that's not in those files!" Curly protested. "I made no claims against those events!"

"No, but I have my sources. We speak to a lot of people in situations like this. You say you left your key in the ignition. That's a bit of a recurring pattern, too. Failing to secure your car when you park it has implications for your insurance claims and where we go from here. If your car had been locked, it would have made it more difficult for the robbers to break in and make a fast getaway. In fact, it likely wouldn't have happened because the robbers would have realized it _wasn't their car!"_

Curly was gettin' rattled, as he started wavin' his hands around and lookin' at his partner for a search-and-rescue.

"I'm afraid it doesn't look good. We'll most likely write the car off."

Curly's temperature shot up. "Write the car off!" he yelled. He looked fit to blow a gasket.

Merle could see good business wavin' bye-bye out his door. "Write it off? You can't write it off! What are you, some kind of diddly-squat dummy?! You, you insurance companies are all the same!"

Payin' no mind to Merle who was up and jumpin' about, Littlemore pressed ruthlessly on. "You also need to know, Mr. Starsky, we're considering terminating your policy with us as a bad risk. I apologize, Mr. Earl, if that puts a dint in your retirement plans. That's all for now, gentleman. I'll be back in touch with our final verdict."

And with that, the aptly named Littlemore walked off, leavin' the two flatfoots and Yours Truly dazed in the sun and Merle as deflated as my tires.

"He's too cheap!" Merle decried loudly for all in a five-mile radius to hear as he mouthed off a litany of rhymin' profanity. I'll give him that, when the chips are down, the man gets all poetic!

In the middle of all the strife, Blondie had the nerve to ask Merle about his car.

"Don't go making a bad day worse!" Merle grumbled.

"Yeah, but is it fixed?"

"Over there," Merle pointed with all the contempt he could muster.

Blondie went over to his junker, cautiously lookin' it over to see what signature touch Merle left behind this time. Nothin' came to light, not then anyway.

-0-

 **INTERLUDE – Blondie Has a Plan  
**

Good to his word, Littlemore rang Curly the next day with his verdict – the company was writin' me off! As if that wasn't bad enough, their settlement price was lower than Antarctic temperatures in the dead of Winter. Curly immediately roused Blondie and they hot-tailed it out to Merle's shop. They all had a quick confab, with Blondie bein' all mysterious about a plan he had. He couldn't be pressed on what the plan was.

"I'll tell ya when I see if it works or not," Blondie replied. He turned to Curly Top. "C'mon, let's get you home. Then I have a couple of errands to run."

-0-

 **CHAPTER 5 – The White Knight Saves the Day  
**

Twenty-fours hours later, we were all reconvenin' back at Merle's shop. Blondie pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Curly Top.

"What's this?"

"A receipt for your car."

"Whaddya mean, a receipt for my car?"

"Well, I looked into things. Turns out when an insurance company writes off your car, you can buy it back from them at an agreed price. You got to tell them about your intentions real quick though, before they do something else with the car."

Way to go, Blondie!

"So that's where you went yesterday?"

"That and a couple of other errands."

"But the money…"

"Don't worry about the money. I made an early withdrawal from a trust fund my father set up for me after I was born. It's been sitting there gathering dust, waiting for a rainy day. I figured this was it."

Got that right, Blondie – buckets of rain've been pelletin' down since this whole thing began!

Curly was all choked up. "Aw Hutch, why'd ya go and do a thing like that for? I don't know what to say."

I do – thanks! Curly heard me. "Thanks, buddy."

"You're welcome. And don't worry, it didn't clean me out,"

They don't call Blondie the White Knight for nothin'.

"Now I've had a talk with our friend Merle here. You could say we've called a truce for sprucin' the caboose. He's agreed he can get the repair costs down."

"Ya have?" Curly looked at Merle who was shiftin' from foot to foot and squirmin' like a fish on a hook.

"Well, now I'm not chargin' some high-falutin' insurance company that lives off the misery of others for my goods and services, I've re-considered my price for fixing your short!"

"Called in a few favors?"

"Something like that."

Curly was gettin' all emotional again. "I can't accept this. It's too much"

Yes, you can! YES, YOU CAN!

Blondie put an arm around his buddy, "There's no price you can put on friendship. And I know what that car means to you."

For once, Curly was lost for words.

"Although heaven only knows why," Blondie added.

He had to go spoil it. But Curly kept beamin' at him with watery eyes. Get out the violins!

"Besides, it's my way of making amends for my clunker breaking down and contributing to proceedings out there. I know I'd never hear the end of it if I don't do something."

Got that right, Blondie.

"Now I can see our friend here's ready for beginning the repairs," Blondie continued. "He's already got his paint cans out. So how about it?"

Yeah, how about it? Let's get this show on the road!

Merle stepped up. "Yeah, Starsky. How about a touch-up with some metallic flame and glitter? It's all in the adjusted estimates Blondie has there. And I can replace your seats' cheap vinyl with something more up-market."

"No furry inners, Merle – this is _not_ a pimp's car," Starsky firmly replied.

Absolutely not!

"Just keep the paint work to the original. Candy apple red with the white stripe. Less is more."

Merle grunted. "Trouble with you, Starsky, is, you got no vision!"

Curly suddenly went quiet. "What?" Blondie probed.

"Thanks, buddy. I'll make it up to ya, I promise. I don't know what more to say."

I do. Never pick on a man's Torino.

-0-

 **CHAPTER 6 – Merle's Finishing Touch  
**

Six weeks later, I was as good as I ever was, waitin' impatiently in Merle's yard to be picked up by my happy owner and his buddy. My tires were itchy and I had rubber to burn! And boy, did Merle and me have a surprise for them!

"It looks be-ewdi-ful!" Curly waxed lyrically at my pristine, gleamin' self. Inside and out, he gave me the once over.

Then he saw it. Merle's artistic touch - small but none too subtle. I personally loved it! Curly Top wasn't quite so sure, and Blondie just laughed out loud before realisin' he'd have to wear it, too.

"I don't know, Starsk, at least they match," Blondie noted.

There is that.

"And you always did like a flame job."

"Yeah, but glow-in-the dark and with glitter?"

"Well, it's just the seat belt buckles and fittings."

"Yeah, but look at the belts."

"What's wrong with you, Starsky?" Merle asked. "Those belts are never-fade, custom-made."

"Yeah, but a _zebra_ pattern?"

"Well now, isn't that your radio call? Perfect for you two."

And Torino makes three. Zebra Three, that is.

"It's all done to legal specs," Merle assured Curly. "That'll keep Mr. Insurance happy. It passed his inspection."

"Yeah, that _was_ one of his conditions of not terminatin' my policy," Curly recalled.

"Well, I guess there's no way we're going to forget to belt up now," laughed Blondie despite himself.

He didn't know the half of it. To be sure, Merle had added an extra touch with a new toy he'd just acquired.

"Get in and start her up. You too, Blondie," Merle instructed.

"OK." Sure enough, my engine kicked in as the refrain of 'On the Road Again' sang out.

"That's your reminder to belt up, fellas."

The two centurions belted up, Curly mutterin' somethin' about disconnectin' the wirin' to lose the sound effects. Then he cheered up as he looked at Blondie belted up next to him. They did look a sight, with those jazzed-up seat-belts wrapped 'round 'em.

"Say, you got to get your clunker."

"Yeah. See you back at my place."

Drivin' along behind the clunker, Curly suddenly remembered somethin'. He picked up the radio and called into Blondie.

"Hey."

"What?"

"How's your car?"

"It's running."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Ya know."

"No, I _don't_ know."

"Merle. Did he leave his signature? If he did, I haven't seen it when we've been ridin'."

"There's nothing to see, Starsk, nothing to see." Blondie sounded a bit disgruntled.

"No?"

"No."

"But there's _somethin'_. I can sense it."

Me too. Somethin' was eatin' at Blondie.

"Well, next time you have a mind to opening my bonnet, keep your ear out."

"Why? Does it play 'Jingle Bells'?"

"Not exactly."

"'Car Wash'?"

"No!"

"'Shitty Shitty Bang Bang'?"

 _"All right, all right!"_

Sometimes, Blondie has no sense of humor. He sharply pulled over to the kerb, and we pulled up behind him.

Curly got out and went over to Blondie. "What?" he asked.

"See, or should I say, _listen_ for yourself!"

A curious Curly opened the clunker's bonnet and there it was … the words and music of "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road" emanatin' from the engine room.

Curly fell about laughin'. His blond Nordic type was less amused.

"It's _not_ funny, Starsk!"

"Aw c'mon, Hutch! Where's your sense of humor, huh?"

In the boot with the dead skunk and ya dead toad frog, that's where.

"Hey Hutch, ya gotta admit—"

"Admit _what?"_

"Merle," Curly began, but he couldn't keep goin'. He was laughin' so hard, tears were pourin' down his face. He soon stopped, though, when he saw how grumpy Blondie was gettin'. And after all, the Knight in not so shinin' armor did do Curly and me a good turn.

Better-late-than-never discretion bein' the better part of valor. Curly quietly slunk back to Yours Truly, and we all took off on the road again as Curly belted up.

"On the road again,  
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway,  
We're the best of friends …"

-0-

 **AFTERWORD**

As we drove along, Curly radioed Blondie again. "You know somethin', Hutch?"

"What?" came the grumpy response

"If I was gonna booby-trap ya car with a song, ya'd know what it'd be?"

"'Shake Your Booty'?"

"No, nothin' like that. Jimmy Croce."

"I'm not in the mood."

"It ain't 'Bad Leroy Brown'," Curly placated.

"Starsk, I'm going."

"It's 'Guess I Have to Say I Love Ya in a Song.'"

It all went quiet at the other end.

"Hutch, ya there, Hutch?" Curly pressed.

Blondie finally spoke. "Aw, Starsk," His voice got that wobbly sound it does when he gets all emotional and teary. I could feel another soapie moment comin' on but then Curly averted it.

"Of course," he added, "That song'd be the B-side of—"

"Don't say it, Starsk!"

"OK."

Go on, Curly, I wanna hear!

But he never did say, and peace reigned as we purred all the way home.

-0-

 **THE END**


End file.
